


Of Sleep and Music

by Quin



Category: Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003)
Genre: Age of Sail, Classical Music, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Slice of Life, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-02-09 17:03:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18642352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quin/pseuds/Quin
Summary: Stephen can’t sleep, neither can Jack, but a little music helps.





	Of Sleep and Music

**Author's Note:**

  * For [felix814](https://archiveofourown.org/users/felix814/gifts).



> felix 814 wished for something that focused on, or was drawn from, the events of the film, a simple vignette which dwells on the domestic nature for Jack's and Stephen's relationship on board ship.

Stephen lay in his hammock, opening and closing his eyes every so often, rubbing his temples. Given how smoothly the _HMS Surprise_ sailed the waters, the calm sway should have put him to sleep long ago. The ship’s bell chimed. One, two, three, four.

Sleep and time, he mused, were a complicated, but yet entwined matter. He had lost count of the days, weeks, they had spent in turmoil. First the surprise appearance and attack of the _Acheron,_ then the perils of sailing past Cape Horn where the winds had torn at the _HMS Surprise_ , tossing her from every wave crest into the trough of the sea. Back then, time had held no definition for Stephen as a steady influx of patients had kept him busy. The victims of a battle, the victims of a force of nature were not treated by the hourglass, but time moved as if having its own flow.

Sleep had not been an option. Jack, the crew and Stephen himself had pushed themselves past the impossible, draining every bit of strength and energy their humble bodies offered. Now that they were on their way to the Galapagos Islands, their effort should have been rewarded with rest. Apart from the watch, everybody should have travelled deep into the land of peaceful dreams. However, Stephen felt he was beyond exhaustion. He stared at the wooden ceiling. What was the point of replenishing mind and body by sleep when it wouldn’t come when needed?

Just as he thought he was about to drift away, the heel of his left foot began to itch. After a more or less satisfying scratch, Stephen fidgeted in his hammock until he began feeling another drift towards sleep. Rough steps moved about the deck, the bell chimed. Another turn of the hourglass. Stephen sighed. What was the saying? The best things come in threes. He moved his hands beneath his head and took a deep breath. Maybe he should count his breaths, not the chimes of the ship’s bell. 

He miscounted somewhere between number hundred and two and hundred and thirteen, began over and was at a hundred again when his eyes started becoming heavy. Then a bang, a voice cursing, followed by a sound that was a mixture of a scratch and rasp, forth and back, highlighted by a high pitched squeak. Stephen grumbled.

He was about to jump up to take his frustration somewhere – he just didn’t know where yet – when the next tone put him back into his hammock. It was delicate, sweet and rang a memory somewhere in Stephen’s sleep-deprived brain.

Where did it come from? He tried to listen more intently, tried following the soft up and downs of the notes as they graced the musical scale. He wished he could place the melody. Stephen moved around, turning his ears to the direction where the music presumably was coming from. A gentle clink clink pervaded, succeeded by an air of joy brushing past to dance around his head. It was bundled into an intensity enveloping Stephen in a cascade floating him along each phrase. It could be his imagination, but it felt like the hammock’s sway tuned itself to the tempo of the musical piece.

So soothing on the one side, on the other side so full of energy floating towards him. Maybe it was because he couldn’t think straight, had long lost the path of logic. However, each gracious note kept Stephen close, kept him under a blanket of warmth, stroking his soul until he felt himself getting lighter and lighter. It was as if with each tone that rippled through him a burden he hadn’t known was there was taken away. The clear timbre in-between smoothed his aching head over, pulled the barrier step-by-step down, so that drowsiness could finally enter Stephen’s mind. He was still thinking on the meaning of this all when the distinct melodious final cadence lifted him up in to the realm of slumber.

~

Stephen blinked into the bright sunlight, trying to shake off a moment’s confusion of where, when and how he was. He splashed his face with some water. He still felt like he was half asleep when he stumbled outside. Without even knowing why, his feet carried him over to Jack’s cabin. Before Stephen could knock, Jack opened the door.

“Oh, a good morning to you, Stephen. You look...”

“Jack, you look awful,” Stephen said at the same time as he scanned the other man’s appearance. Jack’s hair was a mess with strands sticking into every direction, under his eyes there were dark circles and deep wrinkles wore into his face. Stephen resisted the sudden urge to smooth over Jack’s hair.

“Why, thank you,” Jack retorted concerned. “But I wanted to tell you the same. You seem tired. Are you wearing the same clothes as yesterday?”

Just then, Stephen realized that he forgot to change. He shrugged. “I believe with such an eventful voyage lately, my mind did a lot of mulling over. It’s still in alert mode.”

Jack nodded, and then grinned sheepishly. “I am sorry. I am probably the reason that kept you awake. I wager I know what you mean with alert mode. You’re tired, but up here,” he pointed towards his forehead, “it’s not tired enough. I paced around, not paying attention. My violin fell down to the floor. Clumsy me. Then I needed to pick it up to see if it was damaged – thank God it wasn’t - and well, Boccherini didn’t let go of me any more. It was just me being noisy.”

Boccherini. That was the name that Stephen couldn’t remember last night. Stephen returned Jack’s smile. “Actually, no. Quite the contrary.”

Jack quizzically raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you mean? The other day I overheard Killick wondering if I meant to butcher my instrument like a lamb.”

Stephen shook his head. “What does Killick know of music anyway? Not every beginning can be beautiful. It doesn’t matter if the tone is off at the start, the power of the notes played enfold as you travel along them. The melody is meant to carry you away with it.”

“I never saw it that way.” Jack paused for a moment, wrinkling his forehead. “But thinking of it now, there’s a truth to it. I was so restless last night. It was kind of fruitless contemplation. I’ve already made up a dozen of possible plans for when we catch up with the _Acheron_ , so what’s the use in going over them again? I should have been in bed. Without some rest, the brain doesn’t work well or what do you say, doctor?”

Stephen inclined his head. “But having that knowledge doesn’t always help sleep.”

“Indeed, you’re correct.” Jack groaned. “What I meant to say though is playing my violin somehow calmed me down. Yes, there was no peaceful slumber, but working the fiddle appeared to be as peaceful. Perhaps that’s what you are you referring to? You should give it a try yourself.”

Jack looked up at Stephen for affirmation, but before Stephen could answer they were interrupted by Pullings. Jack’s First Lieutenant apologised to Stephen and then he and Jack exchanged a lot of nautical terms Stephen still didn’t quite get. He thought it best to leave and do a check-up round on his patients. Apparently, the Galapagos Islands were some days sailing away after all and they would have time to continue their conversation later.

~

Nevertheless, it turned evening and Stephen had missed out on Jack. The backlog of his patients had occupied him, so that he also had skipped his meals. Killick gave him some leftovers, but despite that Stephen felt a tinge of regret that he hadn’t eaten at least together with Jack.

After his meal, Stephen slumped down into his hammock. The moment he hit the canvas Stephen already knew that again he wouldn’t be dreaming soon. For a while, he shifted around. Then Stephen realized that he was listening the whole time if Jack would pick up his violin. Stephen couldn’t deny it: He longed to hear the magic of Boccherini’s musical composition played by Jack. Without doubt, it had been the one thing that had lulled Stephen into sleep yesterday. It was a shame that he couldn’t simply ask Jack to do it once more. That would be somehow ridiculous. And there they were, too, repetitive idle thoughts. What was it what Jack had told him this morning? To try it himself, to find some relaxation in playing.

Stephen stood up, searching for his cello. Nothing. Irritated, he looked around a second time. His cabin was rather small, so he actually couldn’t miss an instrument of that size. Yes, right. That size, Stephen remembered. It was the reason Stephen’s cello was stored in the captain’s cabin. Oh well. Maybe Jack was still awake and Stephen was able to retrieve his instrument. He got off and went outside.

However, Stephen was out of luck. The light inside Jack’s cabin was already extinguished. What now? Indecisive, Stephen lingered in front of the door. He didn’t want to leave without the cello. Disturbing Jack was not an option, too.

With a small sigh, he finally turned around, the ship swayed… and miscalculating where his body was; Stephen stumbled and bumped his elbow into the door. The thud sounded like the bang of thunder in his ears. Stephen ground his teeth as he heard Jack move around and approach.

“I am sorry, I didn’t want to wake you up,” Stephen gazed apologetically at Jack and his tousled hair. “I wanted to see if you were still up and could hand me over my cello. And then I was being a clumsy landlubber.”

“Come in”, Jack said, rubbing his eyes.

Stephen threw him a look of surprise. “Really? I know how hard it is to go back to sleep once somebody disturbs you. I didn’t want to do the same to you.” He found his cello standing near the table. Stephen strode towards the instrument, planning to quickly grab it and be gone.

Jack tapped him softly on the shoulder and gently shook his head as Stephen turned around. “Why don’t you stay? I am aware that you didn’t wake me on purpose and to be honest, I wasn’t really asleep.” He gave Stephen a genuine smile. “And you neither? Did you come here on my advice?” Jack gestured towards Stephen’s cello.

Stephen chewed on his bottom lip. He could take his instrument and excuse himself or he could… He turned the thought around in his head, unsure of how Jack would feel about his idea. But then, although they didn’t always share each other’s opinions, Jack usually was a heartfelt listener and that was the only thing Stephen needed him to be right now. It was time not to take, but to give back.

“Why don’t you go back to your hammock and give sleep another try?” Stephen was able to see the confusion form on Jack’s expression, but Stephen cut him off with what he hoped was a determined enough gesture. “Trust me.”

Either Jack was too tired to protest or he trusted Stephen indeed. He turned around to trot back to his hammock as Stephen seated himself on a chair. He quickly browsed through the papers on the table, but couldn’t find instantly the sheet music he was searching for. Then his memory had to serve him as best as possible.

He closed his eyes, attempting to conjure up the beauty of what he had listened to the night before. What had the rhythm been like? Stephen moved the bow over the strings experimentally, eliciting tone by tone, mixing them together carefully into melodies. This? Or that? Not quite yet. He tried to keep his tempo steady, the dynamic soft, but not too soft. Still, Stephen wasn’t satisfied. His inner critic threw an array of doubts at him: Too loud, too squeaky, too frantic to be relaxing somehow.

Abruptly, he ceased his frustrations on the rise. It was silly. He couldn’t possibly think to create the same effect as Jack had created for him; Jack hadn’t known he was playing for Stephen last night.

“Hey,” Jack called over. “Why did you stop?”

Stephen jerked his bow backwards. “Maybe Killick was talking about me, not about you. I can’t find the score. I think this is not really Boccherini, it’s a mess.”

“Nonsense,” Jack refused. “To be honest, I like your arrangement better than Boccherini’s original one. It’s more focused; it puts more emphasis on a deep timbre if that makes sense to you.”

“Hmm, if you say so.” Stephen remained uncertain.

Jack laughed. “Does it really matter? I like it. You know, I do like lying on my back, listening to you play. Yes, it’s different than us playing together, but not less enjoyable. Quite relaxing.” Jack raised an eyebrow and sent Stephen a knowing smile.

Stephen’s face grew hot against his will. Jack had definitely seen through him. He wasn’t able to place exactly why, but suddenly he felt himself second-guessing his idea and embarrassment flooded in. He didn’t want to look like a mother hen in front of Jack, a mother hen who needed to watch over Jack’s sleep.

“What are you waiting for? Do you count me for a liar?” Jack asked.

If anything, Jack was not a liar.

“No, I don’t.”

“Then what?” Jack wanted to know.

“You’re not thinking that I act like I am nurse maiding you, do you?” Stephen voiced his concern, then instantly regretted it. Spoken out aloud, the whole thing sounded even more ridiculous.

“Quite the contrary. I am touched by your concern. I would never think of you less because you are concerned about me, whether it’s about if I make the right decisions or whether I get enough sleep. And I know it’s not only you speaking as a doctor.”

Stephen was uncertain of what he could add to that and instead took up his cello’s bow again.

“Perhaps, you should think less about how to play the piece. I think sometimes straying from what is given can be more fun”, Jack commented. “Otherwise, I assume you won’t get down to relaxing and that’s what I wanted you to do.”

Right, less thinking and more of… well, feeling obviously. In another attempt to get back into the mood, Stephen closed his eyes again, mentally forcing any expectations he had imagined away. Hadn’t Boccherini himself declared that the purpose of music was speaking to the heart of people?

Stephen moved the bow and the cello’s strings responded with a sequence of rich, rounded, and resonant tones. Mezzo piano, mezzo forte. He fell into an upbeat, but steady tempo. Joyful, lively and all of sudden there was the easy flow Jack had spoken of. There was something empowering, stimulating in letting all of his feelings flow into his play. Feelings that stemmed from how Stephen perceived his relationship with Jack. Sailing with Jack to the far side of the world was a constant in his life Stephen wouldn’t want to miss for anything else. For sure, they had different opinions and animated discussions, but such was life. Sometimes louder, sometimes quieter. A life with Jack that was rewarding and stimulating in both the mind and the heart. And right now, Stephen felt his heart beating along with the music as he carried his feelings over to where Jake lay in his hammock.

Stephen lost track of time as he lost himself in each phrase. He only stopped when he felt he had given it all. When Stephen looked up, he found Jack slumbering peacefully, his breathing calm and steady, a content smile on his lips.

As quietly as possibly, Stephen stood up, returned his cello to its place and left Jack’s cabin. He believed that now he would sleep well tonight, too. 

Tomorrow, Stephen pondered, Jack and he could play together again. What arrangement, what melody they could create if they both put their hearts into it. He was very much looking forward to their next musical session.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Vae for the beta.


End file.
